“I wouldn’t worry too much about my soul if I was you,” Aaron confided to her. “Souls have a way of takin’ care of themselves. They ain’t under any expense.”
“What a fitting estimate of yourself, Aaron Gallup!” Molly cried scathingly. “No! I shall not marry you. Never! I will repay my father even as he paid me—with my youth. He toiled and slaved for me; I’ll do the same. If we lose the ranch I’ll work as no woman ever worked before—nothing shall be too hard for me; but I will not marry you!”
Gallup got to his feet. “You think it over tonight,” he advised. “Your father’ll see that you don’t run away. I’ll be back tomorrow for my answer. And I’ll have a deputy sheriff and a minister with me. It will be up to you to decide which man we’ll need.”
CHAPTER XVIII
“KILL HIM, THE THIEF!”
Late evening of the day on which he had left, Winnemucca saw Johnny encamped on the North Fork for the night. Early the following morning he breakfasted on trout and flap-jacks and essayed going over the hills in an airline to the Reservation.
The creek was soon left behind. On the high rimrocks and hills above it there was no trail, and the boy spent tedious hours in picking out his way. At high noon he began dropping into the valley.
He had no plan of procedure, so quite naturally he first made for the Agency. The Agent was not there; but he found Bill Ames, the post trader, at home. Bill had seen no strangers in the last week or two. Maybe Thunder Bird had. Indians never talked much. Johnny could ask him. The old chief and his sons were killing rabbits down below.
Down below Johnny went.
“How, chief?” he greeted the old man, a creature of unassailable dignity even in his rags. “You catch ’em rabbits, eh?”
“Nah! Boy catch ’em. Me too old.”